I feel the cost of this illusion, the blow of those soft words to my very delusion. As you sat and drank coffee whilst I drank tea, I should’ve known I was terrified by the words you had written in the steam. I could see the turn of your mouth as we sat talking about nothing and I became hypnotised by the bruises they left on the air. I wanted to follow you but I can’t explain what you meant, or what I understood. Maybe you have forgotten I am here, did you make me disappear? Make me someone I was not. Made me realise I was just a hand to hold, to make you more bold. You were someone I looked at when I was asleep, realising that I had fallen too deep, into something I was presupposed to drown, from. You were the boy from the right side of town. You were the man, the boy I understood. Once.

Somewhat I remembered what I had been told, that men like you were too young to grow old. That your heart and your head where at war with each other, that you despised your father and hated your mother. Too long had I spent waiting on the front line, for you, to being, to tell me when the time. Was right. Which was right, what was wrong? Who was I in your song, the chorus, the verse, who was i? But your first...mmm the way you make me think, nor the way to feel. Some old time girl, some old time reel. Some laughter, some silence, some hurt in the air; never the one to turn down a party or worse to hear my stare. I was the girl against the wall, never too young, never too tall, never to say boo, or worse to say no. To you.

Turning curtains with the morning, the sunlight stayed all night. The wonder of ***** and the brilliant taste of light. I can taste the sweet lament in your skin; I can taste the beauty within. I can taste the disgust on your sweat as it reeks havoc on my mouth. The star you stand on holds less weight than before; you are thinking of leaving, thinking of the slam of the door. And my words have no breath, no effect on your eyes, and you leave in the morning smelling of your despise. I raise my hand to my head, my level to yours, I thought I had read your mind and opened your doors. This circus of fear, moral panic of hours, I was right about you, I knew you didn’t want flowers.

I was holding your hand once, I felt soft and right. The jigsaw puzzle I started, ended that night. No more with the wine, no more with the fat; I chewed and chewed, but enough, of that. I’m glad to feel this pain in my chest, I thought it could be something else. Some futile promise you made one day, you watched me cry, then I walked away. The addictive pain and passion rises within my chest, my mind is racing my head can’t rest. There are things I need to say to you, but I lost the train of thought, you attacked me with my own words. You were written on the back of my hand, to remind me of what I had to do. An ink stain, is what I put it down to.